


Stripped down

by hazelandglasz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Scenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 21:04:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2521769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>V-bird (or bbb35) prompted me : "Boyd catches Stiles wearing only his shirt, and nothing else in his apartment. Boyd pins him down, kissing, sniffing, scenting him and so forth"<br/>and i just ran with it</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stripped down

Boyd doesn’t know what he expected when he came home, but it’s definitely not that.  
“That” being Stiles sitting in a chair at the dinner table, his computer opened in front of him and a book opened next to him, a pen in his mouth and Boyd’s old Lacrosse shirt on.  
And that’s it.  
Long, naked legs stretched towards the closest chair while stiles frowns and types away, his “focus, bitch” playlist providing background noise.  
There is something inherently domestic about this display, about Stiles wearing Boyd’s shirt, about the fact that even if it is Boyd’s apartment, Stiles looks like he belongs there, and combined with the day away, Boyd’s wolf is howling for some good old nesting.  
“Hey, babe,” Stiles says distractedly, still focus on his work—God he’s so smart, Boyd knows it and he’s so proud of Stiles, he doesn’t know if Stiles knows how deep his pride and love run—but he lets out a little breathless squeak when Boyd crouches behind his chair, rubbing his nose against the soft skin behind Stiles’ ear.  
“Boyd?”  
Boyd hums, his hands sliding down Stiles’ arms to rest on his forearms, his mouth now following the path his nose is tracing on Stiles’ neck and jaw.  
Stiles snaps the computer closed and turns in his chair, standing on his knees to wrap his arms around Boyd’s neck, demanding a kiss that Boyd is only too happy to give him.  
It’s not a peck on the lips, but it doesn’t turn as heated as Boyd assumed it would.  
They kiss for a long time, like it’s their first one all over again, until Stiles pulls away with a wince, looking down at his knees like they betrayed him.  
Boyd doesn’t waste any time—that was nice, but his wolfish nature demands a lot more—and picks him up, carrying Stiles bridal style up to their bedroom, dropping him on the bed and crawling after him.  
Stiles moves to take the shirt off, but Boyd takes his hands to keep them on the bed with a noise of disagreement. “Alright, big wolf,” Stiles says with a sigh and a lazy smile, “go to town.”  
That’s all Boyd needed to hear to really unleash his lupine instincts.  
Pinning Stiles’ hands over his head, Boyd gives him a stern look and Stiles nods, wrapping his fingers around the bars of their bedhead. Now that he’s free to go, Boyd lifts the shirt, so big on Stiles, and presses kisses down his chest, rubbing his cheek and his nose on some of his favorite spots—Stiles’ left ribs, underneath his right pectoral, the constellation of moles he has around his right hip--, keeping the shirt above him to wrap himself in that scent, the one smell that can drive him crazy with need and lose his composure when it’s taken away from him.  
At the junction of Stiles’ hip and legs, Boyd buries his nose in the crease before rubbing his neck along it, taking in Stiles’ scent at its purest before adding his own scent to create a perfect “Eau de VernonandStiles” scent, only satisfied when he can’t really smell where Stiles stops and his scent begins.  
He could be mean and moves on to Stiles’ legs, but truth be told, Stiles’ arousal is intoxicating and contagious as Hell, and Boyd needs to taste it at the source.  
Now better than later anyway—Boyd has never said that he was a patient man.  
Boyd puts his hands on Stiles’ hips, his shirt soft under his fingers as he pushes it off Stiles’ hard cock, and he gives himself a short moment to truly look at Stiles, writhing on his bed, basked in his scent.  
Truly a beautiful sight, Boyd agrees with himself, but now it’s time for something more—and without further ado, he licks his lips and closes them around Stiles. Stiles’ musk feels his senses, and Boyd knows that he’s rutting against the bed, but in a detached manner, like it’s happening to somebody else, focused as he is on Stiles’ cock filling his mouth and the taste of it, of him.  
Stiles doesn’t last very long, and Boyd follows him close, stretching on the bed next to him as he savors his bliss.  
“I should wear your things more often,” Stiles murmurs, already burying his nose between Boyd’s neck and shoulder, and Boyd hums his approval for this plan.  
“You should wear nothing all the time,” he replies, Stiles’ helpless giggle the last thing he hears before falling asleep.  
Perfect.


End file.
